One Last Miracle
by addisonadrienne
Summary: No one expected him to wake up after twenty-eight days, but once again Mark Sloan proved everyone wrong. Now living in a world that's drastically changed since the traumatic plane crash, he finds himself haunted by memories that were once shoved to the far corners of his mind. It's evident the one person whom he's always depended on, might be his only saving grace.
1. Part One: Mark

**A/N:** So I've always been a huge Maddison fan, and Mark Sloan's death has prompted me to finally put that love into words...or at least try to. This is my first ever fanfiction so I don't know how this will be received, but I do hope that there are still some Maddison fans out there who won't give up on them...even if there is absolutely no hope for them in canon. Anyway, I think the summary is pretty self-explanatory on my ideas for this fic. I should mention though that I do plan on adding memories/Mark's skewed perception of memories within each Chapter. Just so you don't see the first part of this and think, _what the hell? _Ok I'm done rambling. Enjoy, and if you see it fit to leave comments please do.

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_He walks along a dimly lit street, the freezing rain mercilessly stinging his exposed skin. He tugs at the edges of his leather jacket until they meet. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he exhales three times in short succession, casting momentary warmth against his numbed fingers before they find more comfort in the depths of his pockets. His head ducks forward in a halfhearted attempt to conceal his face from the harsh elements. It's an apathetic attempt to stay warm in a thin leather jacket and black slacks. However, he isn't far from his destination where friction will play a role in creating more than manageable heat for the both of them._

_Under the guise of nightfall, he walks in and out of the shadows while passing underneath the streetlamps that illuminates the street of old fashioned brownstones. He recalls the history lesson she gave him when it was still being christened. How it came into existence during the early 1800s and later became one of up and coming neighborhoods for people like them. She bragged about the open bay windows void of the steel bars that houses south of here had as a precautionary method. The slate colored façade that stood out amongst the mochas and russets her neighbors inherited was furnished with thousands of dollars worth of antiques and expensive designer pieces she insisted upon. He wondered why she cared so much. But when the holidays rolled around and it was filled with more bodies than was desirable of such a home, it became more apparent to him. _

_His confidence dwindles whenever he notices the darkened façade of the building. Slowing his pace, he carefully hops up the steps to the front stoop. He peeks through the multi-layered glass panel that frames either side of the hideously painted pea green door, hoping to catch a blurred figure. When his gaze is met with nothing short of the infinite blackness, concern floods through him. He shivers a little in the cold while digging in his back pocket for a ring of keys. He carefully selects the one marked with a red sticker to distinguish it from the rest of the similarly jagged edges. He turns it in the lock and quietly slips inside the house. Flicking on the nearest switch, light floods through the empty living room he expected her to be sleeping in. His feet drag across the welcome mat, drying the rubber soles that might squeak and give his presence away._

"_Addison?" He calls out to the silence, then thinking to tack on his best friend's name just in case she isn't alone. "Derek?"_

"_Oh like he would be here," She scoffs haughtily from the top of the steps. Draped in a pink silk robe that barely touches the middle of her thighs, her hair coiffed to frame her lightly powdered face. _

_His eyes catch a glimpse of candlelight dancing on the hall tables behind her, illuminating her slender figure in an overtly sexual manner. Pouting her lips she mutters throatily, "You have to go back." _

_He feels the heat rise inside as he slowly ascends the stairs with the intent to ravish her like her husband should be. But the closer he gets to her, the thicker the air around them becomes. He then catches a scent of a perfumed flower permeating his nostrils. The strength of it causes him to cough. The fire from the candlelight grows until it catches on the lampshades resting nearby. She leans against the wall; smirking seductively as she repeats, "Go back." He tries to cry out and tell her about the dangers, but the strong scent that he now recognizes as jasmine chokes out his words._

_He runs with desperation to save her from the flames that now lick at the wallpaper, but the staircase appears to be creating more steps for him to overcome. His heart hammers inside his chest just as the fire makes it way over to her, threatening to swallow her up. On the inside he's screaming her name, willing her to move from the disaster that's somehow sprung up, but his lungs are rendered useless since no sound comes from his throat. He coughs against the intense scent of flowers now mingled with the smoke that's clouding his lover from view. His eyes then begin to water throughout the mad scramble towards the fire and black splotches deter him from pinpointing her location. When he finally reaches the top of the steps, his knees give out and he feels his stomach jolt as he tumbles backwards into a darkness that takes the entire picture from view. The last thing he remembers is a familiar female voice telling him, "Go back." _

He hears someone talking in slow rumbles like they're underwater. Something underneath him comfortably supports his lower back, a firm yet foreign grip against his right hand. A shrill beeping finally breaks through the low rumbling nonsense and his eyes slowly peek open to a blinding light. He immediately shuts it out again in order to quell the immense pounding in his head and the overwhelming discomfort in his throat.

"Dr. Sloan?" A female voice questions uncertainly, a hint of excitement pervading her tone. "Dr. Sloan, can you open your eyes again for me?"

Confusion overcomes him. He tries to do what the unfamiliar female voice is asking of him again; the milky sea of inanimate objects and a round face attached to a perky voice invade his half opened eyes. He blinks in order to regain better focus of the room in front of him. He can deduce almost instantly he's lying down in a bed. It's not comfortable enough to be from his apartment, and the overhead lights are buzzing with the familiarity of a hospital. He tries to call out for help, but finds his throat too dry for words to adequately come out.

That's when he sees Derek rushing into his room followed by a familiar looking woman with big ebony waves. His best friend's blue eyes widen, and the anxiety appears to wipe clean from his expression as relief takes its place. "Mark," He exhales, his mouth twitching into a smile before he closes in on his bedside and squeezes his shoulder. "Good to see you awake."

"Hey Der—" Mark's voice breaks off, his eyes still rolling open and close as he tries to regain complete consciousness. He coughs slightly, wincing as his chest pulls uncomfortably. He notices the dark haired woman pacing to this other side, pulling a chair up to the edge of the bed. "Torres?" He furrows his brow, trying to process everything as it comes at him.

Her dark eyes are pooling with joyful tears as she reaches for his hand. Sighing with a crooked smile she greets him, "Welcome back."

"How…" Mark tries to speak up again, but is met with a twinge at the back of his throat.

"Just take it easy," Derek tells him, placing a hand on his chest in order to ease Mark down onto his pillows again.

"What…what happened?" Mark tilts his face to the side until his friend is solely in view. His mind whirls with a thousand questions as to how he ended up here, which causes Derek to shoot a meaningful glance in Callie's direction.

The dark haired man waits for a moment, nods his head, and then settles down at the edge of his friend's bed. "It's ok if you can't remember. Mark, we were in a plane crash. I broke my hand." He lifts back the sleeve of his white coat to reveal a nasty scar for emphasis. "You were ok, or so we thought. Then we brought you back here and you obviously had some unchecked head trauma. It put you into a coma."

"How…long?" Is all he can manage to get out before he's coughing harshly again. Callie pats his hand, stands, and says something about getting him some water to quell the raw sensation tickling his throat.

"You were out for twenty-eight days," Derek informs him. "We didn't think…" He trails off; fearful to admit where his thoughts had been circulating for a while now. He purposefully clears his throat and turns away from his friend for a moment. "Anyway," Derek stands. "Guess you could say we all underestimated you again."

Mark snorts at this splinter of humor and rejoins hoarsely, "Almost made it to my own funeral huh?"

"Yeah," Derek nods in agreement, his smile fading. "I'm glad you didn't completely check out on us though. No matter how bad things may seem right now…you still have a lot to live for Mark."

"You said there was a plane crash," Mark frowns. "Who else was…with us?"

"Well uh, Meredith and Cristina were there too. Arizona and…" He pauses for a moment before lowering his voice and softly saying her name with a remorseful expression, "…Lexie."

"Are they all ok?" Mark wonders calmly.

"Meredith and Cristina are alright," He assures him plainly. "A little afraid of flying now, but can you really blame them?" He hesitates before stating in a wavering voice, "Arizona lost one of her legs. It's been really hard for her and Callie."

"And uh…Lexie?" He tilts his head to the side.

Derek shakes his head slowly, pity crossing through his brilliant blue eyes, "I'm so sorry, Mark. Lexie didn't make it."

"Oh," He lowers his gaze to the foot of his bed, his expression unchanging.

"I'm sorry," Derek reiterates solemnly.

Neither one of them says anything for a while. Mark's the first to break through the silence with an unexpected question, "And Addison?"

His pale blue eyes snap up to find sincerity in the tone and face of his friend. Knitting his brow together Derek inclines his head, "Addison? What about her?"

"Where…is she?" Mark coughs slightly, his eyes flitting around the room and towards the open window as if a glimpse of red might happen to stroll by.

"She's upstairs in the nursery," Derek states, folding his arms over his chest while noticing the distracted nature of Mark's gaze.

"I thought she'd be here," The other man admits softly, shrugging off his disappointment in an attempt to showcase a level of indifference. "You know how she is," He adds with a weak half smile.

"Yeah I do," Derek nods slowly. "Mark?" He calls out, catching his friend's direct gaze again. "Do you _want _to see her?"

"Of course I do," He insists before lifting a taunting brow. "We had a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Derek prompts curiously.

Mark shoots his friend an incredulous look, a low chortle emitting from his throat. "She bet me I couldn't go sixty days without sex." His brow ridge deepens as he continues dryly, "I thought I already told you?"

"You did."

"Just trying to forget I said anything about being with your ex-wife?" Mark can't help but taunt.

Seeing the familiar light catch in his best friend's pale green eyes forces the dread to dissipate. Derek tries his best to mask what he already can surmise is a result of the traumatic plane crash with sheer relief that is friend is alive. So he manages a weak laugh at the remark, trying to remain as calm as possible in the wake of these revelations. "I guess so," He replies, pretending that the thought of Mark and Addison together bothers him more than it actually does. What Mark doesn't know is that there's another Mrs. Shepherd now. One he's certain he loves more than the first because both of them wished for a family, and couldn't be happier with the results.

If his guise isn't convincing Mark doesn't appear to notice. He keeps rambling on about the bet, and when he can see Addison again. "I wonder if it'll still count since I've been unconscious for…how long did you say it was again?"

"Twenty-eight days," Derek supplies.

"Wow," Mark marvels with a slight sigh, "I can't believe it was that long."

Derek doesn't say anything for a moment, trying to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. He's been involved in many cases with temporary amnesia was present after a severe trauma, but never one involving someone he considers his family. Before dispensing with the standard list of questions that will shed light to both of them on what is really happening, he decides only one is really necessary.

"Mark…can you tell me what year it is?"

"Geez Shep, already with the follow up exam?"

"Just one question for right now," Derek shrugs.

"Ok, it's two-thousand and…" Mark trails off to think for a moment before finishing proudly, "…seven."

His face flushes with concern, but he quickly mumbles something about checking on Callie's progress with the water, in order to disguise the truth from Mark. As he walks out of his room and down the hall, Derek had a feeling what Mark's answer would be all along. He somehow knew that the answer would point back to her. He just couldn't be sure she would be willing to accept it.


	2. Part Two: Addison

**First off, I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review this story. Your words were truly encouraging, and even motivating for me to continue with this. I think I have decided to switch back and forth between POV because it makes things more interesting. Anyway, enjoy! And I'll try to have another chapter up soon.**

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The crayon fits in his tiny fist perfectly and pink streams erupt across the white blank page. Addison carefully watches his arm jut back and forth in sharp motions as he creates a colored mass of nothing. He seems delighted by the act, making gurgling noises while his mother bounces him on her lap. It makes her smile. She bends forward to plant a kiss at the soft apex of his cheek. He wriggles at the sensation, making a gurgling sound that closely resembles giggling. She couldn't be more grateful to have him with her. She almost followed Jake's suggestion that she leave her son with him while visiting her dying friend, but she couldn't. She couldn't face this horrible tragedy alone. As selfish as it might seem, she needed someone to keep her sane. And throughout everything, Henry's given her back so much of her old self that bringing him seemed like a rational decision. She jumps a little when the crayon point snaps against her son's unyielding pressure, and then lightly smacks his hand when he throws the object across the room out of frustration. He begins to cry, still unable to grasp basic concepts of right and wrong.

She rearranges him in her arms until his full face rests against her shoulder, the hot tears staining her orange and white satin blouse. She alternates between hushing him softly, kissing the side of his head, and patting his back reassuringly. She wonders maybe if she's been too hard on her ten month old, and a twinge of guilt begins to fill her heart as her eyes finally rest upon the pink swirls on the white piece of paper.

_"Pink?" She gawks in horror at the awful Pepto Bismol color that Mark deems to be classy enough for their child. "No, I don't think so." She shuffles through the colored strips of paper they picked up at the home improvement store during one of their weekend trips out of the city. Addison's gaze fixates on a mint green color before she holds it up to Mark._

_"Yes because baby poop green would be so much better for our little girl," He mocks, which earns him a light smack on the shoulder._

_"Stop saying that, you don't know yet." She sighs, "And it's not baby poop green. It's mint."_

_"Well it looks like the same color as the futon couch," Mark insists, not noticing or caring to notice the slight difference that much. "And we both know you criticize that thing every chance you get."_

_She reaches for the paint color strips laid out on the coffee table, and begins organizing them. "Yes well, I can't help that Bizzy wanted to keep it in the family more than I can help that you decided to put it in our living room."_

_"_Our_ living room?" His brow lifts curiously at her choice of wording, the edges of his mouth already curling into a sort of smile._

_She glances up at him and rolls her eyes, "Shut up. You know what I mean."_

_"You think of it as _our_ living room?" He probes daringly._

_"Well we're having a child," Addison reasons stiffly, "if we can share that surely we can share a place to live." Her eyes gaze falls towards the floor, but out of the corner of her eye she notices his smile deepen._

_Mark brings a hand to her shoulder, forcing her eyes back to his. The warmth that she has often resisted due to his indiscretions suddenly spreads through her when she notices a glimmer of sincerity in his pale green eyes. His thumb strokes her collarbone, hand kneading into her shoulder blade affectionately. He leans forward to place a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth before her defenses have reassembled as another protective measure. _

_Instead her lips move against his, deepening the kiss. Her hand curls around his scruffy cheek; daring her mouth to part open, tongue tentatively snaking inside. Mark brings his arms around her waist until their hips bump. Both relish in the sudden rush of pleasure that envelopes them, momentarily forgetting about their current predicament. _

"Addison?"

The mellow tone brings her out of the slight daydream. She shakes her head and blinks several times before glancing up at Derek standing in front of her. "Oh Derek," She greets through her sons wavering cries.

"Is now a bad time?" He nods at Henry with a slight smile, still amazed by how motherhood looks on her.

"No," She assures him plainly, grabbing a miniature stuffed mouse from the baby bag and presenting it to her son as a distraction. "We're fine," She exhales with relief whenever Henry calms down. Her attention then reverts back to her ex-husband, who pulls up a nearby chair. She asks, "How is he?"

It's a question Derek's been confronted with ever since she arrived in Seattle. One he's grown accustomed to answer in a specific way. But now it needs revision. "He's…awake." Derek tells her with a slight smile.

"Awake?" Addison echoes with disbelief. "Derek if this is some kind of sick joke I swear to God…"

"Addison," Derek interrupts softly, his hand reaching for her shoulder to settle her nerves. "I am not joking about this."

"Oh my God," She breathes when she notices his sincerity, "you _are_ serious." Because even with five years since the divorce, there are certain things that never go away after eleven years of marriage. Her mouth twitches into a grateful smile, a soft peal of laughter escaping her throat. "I-I can't believe it. He's really awake?"

"He is," Derek offers her a reassuring smile before releasing her arm.

"Well…is everything…I mean is he ok?"

"Physically he's fine," Derek leans forward in his seat, folding his hands together in the center of his lap.

"But…" She prompts, recognizing the body language that typically occurs when he's about to deliver bad news to patients loved ones.

"But…" Derek sighs, running a hand through his dark curls, "…he's suffering from a rare form of retrograde amnesia."

Her once joyous expression fades at this revelation. She chews on her bottom lip anxiously, shaking her head slowly. "So he doesn't remember…?" Addison trails off, waiting for Derek to chime in.

He catches onto her incredulous expression "Anything from the last five years."

"What?" Her voice lifts several octaves. "But how is that even possible?"

He shrugs, "I wish I could answer that. But we both know it's virtually impossible to know everything about the brain. Especially when it comes to how it heals itself."

Addison considers his words for a few seconds before attempting to clarify. "So he thinks it's what…two thousand and seven?"

"Yes."

"Wow," Her emerald eyes widen out of pure shock. "Does he…know? I mean have you told him?"

"Not yet," Derek admits. "I'm still working on the whole, 'how to' part of this problem."

"Well it's not like it's the first time you've experienced something like this," She assures him plainly before glancing back down at Henry.

"Yeah but this time is different," Derek looks down at his hands in between his lap.

The sadness in his tone catches her attention, and she reaches for one of his hands. "Derek, it doesn't matter how you decide to tell him. We both know Mark's going to react the same way no matter what. But I think if there's one person he'd want to hear it from, it's you."

He chuckles softly at her insinuation, "Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

Recognition flashes across her face and a wry half smile curls against her peach stained mouth. "Somehow I feel like the me from five years ago is the last person Mark would want to see right now."

Derek tilts his head to the side, "And yet you're the only one he's asking about."

Her mouth gapes open, surprise glittering throughout her widened emerald orbs. "Now _that _is a sick joke," She shakes her head in disbelief. "I was horrible to him five years ago."

"It sure sounded like it," Derek taunts, causing Addison to cast him a horrified look. He relents, "Mark told me how you broke the bet, and how he told you he did so you didn't have to feel guilty about not wanting him."

"Of course he did," She frowns, somewhat ashamed by her ex-husband being aware of even more of her misdeeds.

"But for what it's worth," He begins, "I think everything turned out for the best." His gaze falls onto the baby in her arms.

It becomes clear to Addison he's still oblivious to the one severed tie that always bound her and Mark together. She can breathe easier knowing that piece of the past still belongs to the pair of them. And while Henry has made her happier than she's been ever since those two months of unbridled passion, there are times when she can't help but wonder: _what if? _She supposes this is only a human fault, universal amongst those who still harbor regrets. Although there's something unsettling to her that even with a gorgeous boyfriend who adores her baby just as much as she does, a void still exists in her heart.

"Yeah," She smiles weakly, hiding any of these doubts from Derek. "I guess it did."

"You want me to watch Henry so you can visit him?"

"Oh uhm," She bites on her bottom lip, her arms tightening around her son's form. "I don't want to trouble you," An uneasy smile makes its way across her face. "You probably have a lot of patients…"

"I can take a break for a few hours," Derek informs her with a shrug.

Addison shakes her head uncertainly, "I don't know. I couldn't ask you to…"

"So don't ask me to," He offers her one of his trademark smiles, "just let me." He lifts his arms towards the baby boy.

"Are you sure?" She probes, leaning forward in her seat.

He beckons her to gingerly pass Henry into his arms, "Addison."

She lifts a questioning brow, "Yes?"

Derek notices her brilliant green eyes fade to blue as worry flashes through them. He recalls her familiar expression as the concealed anxiety he often ignored when they lived together in New York. Now recognizing it he cradles Henry close to his chest and tells her in a soothing yet decisive tone, "Just relax. He'll want to hear it from you."

Her teeth rake across her bottom lip, her fingertips lingering on the sleeve of his blue onesie sleeve, "Derek how can you be so sure?"

Letting out a slight sigh he explains candidly, "Because you and Mark understand one another better than most married couples."

Addison lets out a shrill peal of laughter. She remains unconvinced, or is trying to appear unconvinced, by her ex-husband's statement. Because allowing herself to believe in it would require her to confront the void in her heart.

* * *

The walk down the hall towards his room appears to endlessly stretch out before her. The hollow clicking of her heels against the linoleum tile coupled with the buzz and crackling of the intercom make the nerves bounce in her stomach. Her shaking hand tucks a piece of crimson behind her ear, a row of pearly white teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She inwardly scolds herself for being so edgy. It's not the type of person she usually is, and yet it's who she becomes when he's around.

Finally she pauses on the other side of his door, inhaling a sharp breath, set on holding it in for as long as possible along with any messy emotions that might cause her to unravel. Her fist lifts until met with the wood of the door and she knocks twice before pushing it open. Their eyes meet almost instantaneously, and the machines he's hooked up to, his standard issued hospital bed, and everything else classifying him as an invalid fades away.

She slowly steps into the room, feeling the relief sweep over her in waves that don't seem to cease from cresting and swelling. "Hello Mark," She swallows in an effort to clear the knot forming in the back of her throat.

"Red," He replies in a scratchy voice. His thin lips tugging upwards into a grateful smile, "I was beginning to think you didn't want to see me."

She walks over to his beside, easing down in the armchair to his left. Brandishing one of her finest half smiles she winks at him, "Of course I'd want to see you."

Mark upturns his palm, glancing up at her as if to silently ask for her to take it. Her smooth, ivory palm easily slips into his dry, calloused one. He admits with a crooked grin, "I guess I had this romantic idea that you'd be here when I woke up."

She looks down at their intertwining fingers and squeezes his hand reassuringly, "Well I'm here now."

"I'm glad," He squeezes back.

Addison daringly looks up to see his feelings for her lighting up his face. Her stomach twists nervously, and she tries to show him similar sentiment but feels like she's failing miserably. She looks down again, hoping he chalks it up to nothing more than nervousness.

As always, Mark finds a way to break the uncomfortable silence, "I was afraid you might have moved on. You know, since the bets up."

"Yeah," She chuckles nervously, feeling a sting of guilt inside her chest. Straightening up in her seat she asserts boldly, "Look Mark, about the bet, there's something I need to tell you."

He lets out a sigh, "I already know."

"You do?" She tilts her head to the side.

He grimaces as the words come out, "I know about you and Karev."

Her eyes fall to the floor, her cheeks flushing with shame. Even though she always had an idea he was trying to do what he could to make her feel better about their failed attempt as a couple, a part of her always doubted just how true his admission of infidelity was that night. And now, hearing it spill ignorantly from his mouth confirms what she tried to set aside for nearly five years.

He jerks her hand around playfully and assures her, "It's ok Addie, I get why you did it."

Hearing the forgiveness in his words is enough to constrict her breathing. She looks to him with remorse filling her eyes and clouding her vision. A weakened smile makes its way to her mouth and she shakes her head slowly. "No it's…it's not about that."

Mark lifts a confused brow, silently urging her to explain.

Between his probing look and the fact that he is looking at her so unabashedly in love with her suddenly forces her nerves to get the best of her and the rambling begins. "God I don't know how to tell you this. Derek said that you would want to hear from me instead of him or Callie, but I told him that he should be the one to tell you." Her tone lifts and the words come out even faster, "Now I realize it doesn't really matter who tells you because you're going to react the same way anyway. And I wish this hadn't happened to you because you deserve so much better…"

"Addison," He interjects causing her to stop.

"Right," She nods, "nervous rambling. Sorry."

Concern etches across his expression as he asks, "What's really going on, Addie?"

She moves to sit on the edge of his bed, squeezing his hand in hers before reaching for his shoulder. In a determined voice she states, "You were right when you said 'the bet is up.' It's just…the bet's been up for five years now."

"What-what do you mean? I don't understand." His eyes narrow suspiciously.

Addison releases the grip on his shoulder, placing both of her hands on top of his. She chews on her lower lip before clarifying, "You told Derek, you thought the year was 2007. Well it's actually, 2012."

"I don't…I don't understand. How…how is this even possible?" He stammers uncertainly, his eyes widening in horror.

"Derek says you have a unique kind of retrograde amnesia brought on from the plane crash."

"I-I can't believe this. I don't…how is it that I can't remember five years of my life? How is that suddenly gone, Addie?" He questions in shaking tones, bringing a hand to the side of his face in order to make sense of what she's telling him. His breathing becomes more ragged and she notices the claustrophobic look on his face as his eyes dart around the room. "Five years of my life is suddenly gone. How do I…how do I deal with that?"

"Hey look at me," Addison brings one of her hands to touch his cheek. He focuses on her, the pained look in his eyes causing hers to water. "We are going to do everything we can to help you remember, ok? Derek, Callie, Arizona, and me are going to help you through this. Ok?"

He mutely nods, sniffing back all of the deeply felt emotions he's often careful to conceal. She respectfully looks away until she feels him pulling her closer into a tight embrace. Addison's arms snake underneath his arms, her chin finding its usual place where neck meets shoulder. His fingers tangle in her red waves, and he softly exhales, "I love you."

Addison immediately pulls away from him, searching his face for any signs of insincerity. But he's being so honest with her its enough to make her head spin. Before she can protest his lips are pressing against hers in a way that makes her dizzy. She could fight it, she _should_ but something possesses her to hold on. _Just for a few seconds_, she inwardly convinces herself. Because Lexie is dead, and Mark almost died. And for a moment, she forgets that anytime at all has passed between them. For a moment they are Mark and Addison again, the couple with undeniable and unwavering chemistry, but the couple who still misunderstands the concept of time altogether.


	3. Part Three: Mark

**A/N: **So this update is shorter than I thought it would be, but this topic of memory loss is really more difficult to tackle than I thought it would be haha. I guess I was a little overly ambitious? Idk, but what I do know is I wanted to give Mark's character more depth. So I tried to get into his mind this time, which I was either somewhat successful at or just failed horribly. Either way I hope some of you Maddison fans who remain enjoy this. Let me know what you think!

* * *

He couldn't grasp the sheer magnitude of everything she told him in the few minute reunion. As always, her presence distracted him. The way she looked at him through those emerald orbs full of regret and a deep seeded love neither one of them would vocalize. How she gracefully walked in those never-ending heels no matter the pace or terrain. The way she still reached for his hand to offer reassurance, her thumb tracing small patterns on the back of his palm. Her rosewater perfume that often lingered in his nostrils even hours after they embraced. Even her full lips that she glossed over with a vibrant color caught his attention and made it damn near impossible to think coherently whenever she pouted.

It wasn't until she left him to be alone with his thoughts that he could face the reality of the situation. Somehow he had lost five years of his life due to a head injury he can't seem to properly remember. Where could the time have possibly gone? Those memories had to be in there. They couldn't have just disappeared into thin air. Buried deep beneath a sort of protective wall, were five years of what he could only surmise to be mistakes made and the consequences of them. And apparently, the love of a young woman by the name of Lexie Grey. He knew her only as Meredith's younger sister. But Derek seemed to imply she was more to him than that. He wished he could remember at least some of that. It felt like an insult to Meredith as well as the deceased girl's memory to forget. Not only that, but he wished he could remember the one who made him give up on Addison all those years ago. After all, she had to be damn near special to replace the one woman he loved.

Then there was the matter of his daughter with Callie. Little Sofia was a beautiful toddler, with a brilliant smile and looking every bit like her mother. He nearly cried when he first saw her and she called him 'Dadda.' Callie's wife, Arizona had to take her from the room because the emotions were overwhelming. What kind of parent couldn't remember his own daughter? He felt something stir inside of him when she was nearby, but how could he know what she needed? How was he a father if he couldn't even remember it? Especially when the other two times fatherhood was presented to him, the women involved told him he wasn't good enough.

But despite these frustrations and his emotional shortcomings, Derek convinces him most of those memories will come back eventually. Although Mark can see the lingering doubt clouding his best friend's expression when he wasn't supposed to be looking. He knows that nobody is absolutely certain about his condition. How could anyone guarantee him something as significant as regaining his memory? He partially understands it's Derek's way of helping him. But even so, it feels more like false hope than anything else.

And lying wide awake in the early hours of morning in his darkened hospital room, makes the notion of his broken mind even more unsettling. He hasn't been able to fall asleep for more than a few hours at a time ever since awakening from the crash. Flashes of an all-consuming fire overtake him, seizing him in a terror he's never experienced before. Visions of things he can't very well explain, but vaguely remembers. It's an odd feeling. Thinking you recall a person and a place, but seeing all the other circumstances blur together like in an Impressionist painting.

He feels lost in a life that was once his. Now it feels more like an imitation of what he was, as if he's expected to act a certain way to the people that recognize him but bear no significant place in his mind. It's maddening. He wants to find a release in all the pressure that's being placed on him. He wants to scream and fight back for his former life. His mind is racing, searching for the answers that should be readily on the surface of things. His therapist has him "visualizing a place of tranquility" every time he feels overwhelmed. After one session, he's not certain of what this place _should_ be like. He knows what he wants it to be like. But he's starting to doubt himself and wonder if it's right according to the rest of the world. Dr. Perkins assures him that isn't important.

So he allows himself to think about New York, to think about red hair freckled with fluffy snow in December, and the taste of hot cocoa as her mouth presses against his. The warmth of her body as it presses against his, their gloved fingers intertwined in his coat pockets. This place of tranquility he envisions might be a memory or it might just be the one thing that still makes sense to him throughout this entire ordeal.

_His teeth chattered as the winter wind whipped at them mercilessly. The shallow depth the pockets of his leather coat provided couldn't keep his hands from going numb. Powdery snow ascended from the lofty mountains created from the city ordinance's poor plow job and swirled around in fanciful patterns. They caused an 'oohing' and 'ahhing' from a young woman with dreams piled as high as the snow. It somehow seemed worth it, to make her happy, even if it meant obtaining frostbite on his hands. But with her husband calling halfway through cocktails and appetizers with news that he wouldn't be coming, the rest of the night seemed to have gone to Hell. "Any progress?" He called out to her from his place underneath the overhang of the restaurant. _

_"No!" She returned despondently while carefully balancing the toes of her boots on the edge of the sidewalk. Streaks of red suppressed by a navy knit cap bounced in the snowy air as she hopped up and down every time a yellow cab came hurrying down the street. "Oh here comes another one!" She raised her arm high and waved furiously only to be met with indifference as the driver sped onward. "Damnit!" Addison stomped her boots in a slushy mess, creating backlash as the substance stained her long woolen coat._

_"Let's just walk," He suggested._

_She glanced back at him, studying his lack of preparation for the weather. "Yeah so I can hear you bitch about how cold you are for ten blocks?" Her cherry red lips pouted sexy in a sensual manner, although he was almost certain that wasn't her intent. "No thanks, I'd rather pay for a cab," She informed him cheekily. "At least that way you'll be quiet." She turned her attention back to the streets, arm lifted in an attempt to get them a ride home. _

_"Hey," He snapped back, walking over to step in front of her. "I don't want to be stuck here with you anymore than you do with me. I'm just trying to think of another alternative here, since it appears there's at least one thing you aren't annoyingly successful at."_

_As if on cue, a honking car sounded from behind him and she let her arm drop to her side. He rolled his eyes at her whenever the satisfied smirk played against her full lips. "You were saying?" She taunted while he begrudgingly opened the back door of the cab and slipped in before her._

_He told the cab driver where they were headed, and asked about why the cab seemed just as frigid as the outside before closing the partition. "A malfunctioning heater? Only you would hail the cab with a malfunctioning heater!" He marveled at the redhead who was glancing at the ceiling of the vehicle, her mouth pursed into a thin, straight line._

_Mark brought his hand to his mouth, exhaling three short times in succession before rubbing them together to create head. He repeated this method several times until Addison snapped at him. "Do you mind?"_

_Shrugging he retorted, "You have a better idea?"_

_"Yeah actually I do…how about you stop that?"_

_"My hands are cold," Mark insisted vehemently before repeating the process of blowing warm arm on them and rubbing them together much to her chagrin._

_"Oh for Christ's sake," She started again after a few moments, "give me your hands." Not waiting for his permission she grabbed them in between her gloved hands, and scooted closer so she could blow hot air on them in slow continuous breaths. It definitely kept the heat better insulated than Mark's method, but along with it came so many implications that neither one of them were ready for._

_His eyes found her emerald green ones that were suddenly unusually soft in that moment. And he couldn't help but tease softly, "Looks like Satan has a heart after all."_

_She pauses a few moments, her mouth hovering a few centimeters above his hands. His musky scent was pleasing to inhale as she tried to keep him from bitching. At least that's what he thought because the transformation from hatred to some sort of intimate emotion was obviously as it moved along her face. She cleared her throat and dropped their hands in her lap. Looking away from him she muttered in less hostile tones, "If you tell anyone I'll steal your soul."_

_He snorted, "Ok, Red."_

Plagued with a nasty case of the flu, The Gynie Squad is in need of her expertise. She comes into his room two days later dressed in the navy scrubs that always, in his opinion, seemed to complement her figure above everyone else's. Leaning against the doorframe with a hand on her hip she asks curiously, "I bet you're loving this." A teasing melody runs through her words, "All the attention the nurses are giving you."

He snickers at this, "I'm mainly just enjoying the attention you're giving me." At his flirtatious quip, he notices the light from her smile fade.

"Well I wouldn't get used to it," She returns in a distant voice, a distinct hesitation in finishing the thought for some unknown reason.

Mark stares at her, puzzled for a few moments. Then he slowly pieces it together. Her reluctance to talk about their time apart, the unidentified diamond heart necklace she now fingers nervously, and the hesitation in their kiss, must amount to something. Something more than she's willing to disclose since according to her it's been five years. Five years since she slept with Karev. Five years since she moved to a city of beaches and filthy rich men. Five years away from him. Five years is too long of a time for her to wait for him—for her to wait for anyone—but mostly him. His stomach churns at the thought of her with someone else. But then he reminds himself that he isn't the jealous type. Or at least he'll do his best to be convinced of the idea.

"When do you go back?" He wonders, capturing her full attention again.

She tells him, "Tomorrow afternoon."

"I thought we had a deal," He feigns disappointment, lowering his eyes to the foot of his bed.

He must not fake it well because she crosses deeper into the room, carefully perching at the bottom of his bed. "Mark," She places a hand on his foot reassuringly, "you know you will always be one of my best friends, right? And I will always care about you. It's just that I have a life in LA now. I have a family I need to think about." Her gaze falls downward bringing her voice along with it, "I have a son. And…someone." She lets go of his foot, placing her hand back in her lap.

He looks at her out of surprise, even though he really shouldn't be. It was only a matter of time before someone else discovered how amazing she is. Now his assumptions about them are confirmed. _I just didn't want one with you, _plays over in his mind. He clenches a fist until his fingernails create half moon prints that will definitely be sore. But that pain is minimal in comparison to the tortured thoughts of her spending her life with a nameless man and a little boy. A life without him and her. "What's his name?" He questions, not _really _caring, but asking anyway.

Addison swallows before answering, "Jake."

He fires back, "What does he do?"

"He's a doctor. An IVF specialist," She nods.

Mark lifts his brow, "You're dating another member of the Gynie Squad?" She rolls her eyes at this and chuckles slightly. "What's he like in bed?" He suddenly asks abruptly.

"Excuse me?" She gapes at him in disbelief.

He explains very matter of factly, "I mean what he's like in bed? He's a vagina specialist so my bet is it's all very precise and technical." He smirks out of satisfaction when she narrows her eyes; mouth still parted from his pointed words.

"I'm not even going to indulge your sick mind, and answer that." She brushes off some invisible debris from her scrub pants before standing.

"Is he the best you ever had?" He quips with a more condescending note in his voice.

"Mark!" She shrieks, flinging her hands in the air on either side of her.

"What?" He mockingly wonders before justifying, "I'm just making sure he's good enough for you."

"Well that's not for you to decide," Addison folds her arms over her chest.

"Apparently not," He replies with a heavy sigh. His head plops back onto the pillows, and he turns his face to the ceiling. The bright lights burn his retinas so he soon looks back at her. She's standing at the foot of his bed; clearly defiant and ready to deflect any remaining inappropriate questions he might throw at her. So he throws her off course by asking curiously, "In five years you never thought about me? Not even once?"

She opens her mouth fully prepared to answer something else. But when she hears his words, her face goes blank. She purses her lips together and glances down at her tennis shoes. So much is said in those brief moments of silence. Addison looks up at Mark, who's studying her so intently with his gaze that she has no choice but to answer truthfully. "I did," She whispers sadly, shrugging her shoulders. Tilting her head to the side she adds knowingly, "But you didn't think about me. Not in that way. Not then."

"I'm positive I did," Mark asserts.

She muses with a weakened smile of nostalgia, "Says the guy who's suffering from memory loss."

"I might not remember some things about my past, Addison." Mark tells her evenly, "But you definitely aren't one of them."

She still gets on her plane to LA the following afternoon, leaving him yet again with another familiar memory in his foreign world.


End file.
